Alone in a Crowd
by sniggles
Summary: CJ's thoughts, uncensored, uninterrupted, unplugged.


I don't own them, don't wanna own them. The Evil genius does, on both counts though, so...  
  
This is told from CJ's POV.  
  
For Janie  
  
  
"Alone in a Crowd"  
by Rebecca A. Anderson  
sniggles@claudia-jean.net  
April 2001  
  
  
I never really knew until now what it meant to be alone in a crowd. To be the only one in an airport feeling so alone that you're almost bored to tears. Well, okay, that was a stupid thing to say since I'm sure there are other people like me around here tonight.  
  
I managed to fast-talk Leo and the President into a personal leave of five days, after the first dream came back to haunt me. I won't be like Josh - I won't ignore the warning signs. I know that Rosslyn affected me as much as everyone else, I've just been able to hide it better. I pushed it all so deep that now, it's erupting like fucking Mount Pompei, ready to take everything out in its path, ready to bury me in the wake of ashes and lava, burning away what's left of my soul.  
  
Well, at least I won't be here in Washington when it happens. At least I won't be in the middle of a briefing when it hits me like a ton of Mack truck, driven by a madman.  
  
Madman...  
  
Madmen...  
  
Madmen did this to us.  
  
They shot at us in their ignorance, their hate. They nearly killed Josh because they hated something that didn't involve them in the least? Why can't people just keep their noses in their own business, for Christ's sake? Because it would take too much effort, I guess. I mean, whose business is it but Zoey and Charlie's if they want to go out? Get married? Have children? No one's but their own.  
  
Whose business is it if you love someone?  
  
I remember coming out of the Newseum with Sam and Toby, Toby heading off for some reason - to work the ropeline with the President, maybe? And Sam and I were just kind of walking... to the car? I don't remember... I think I've pushed it too deep back into the reaches of my subconscious that I can't retrieve but bits and pieces of it.  
  
And then the shots.  
  
I remember the deafening popping noises. It was like being stuck in a popcorn popper - or a pan of hot oil with the lid on. Maybe... I don't remember hitting the ground, but I do remember a weight shoving me down. And I remember the tangy feel of shattered glass on my skin as I opened my eyes.  
  
My head hurt, like someone had whacked me upside the head with a kayak paddle. And if you don't know how much that hurts, oh boy, lemme tell ya... It's pain, indescribable pain. I couldn't sit up on my own, my head wanted to fall off... I reached up to touch where it hurt most, and when I drew my hand back, it was bloody.  
  
Blood scares me. Spiders, nah; tight enclosed spaces, not a problem. But blood... oh God, kill me.  
  
The Secret Service agent that had been with Sam and me helped me up and to the ambulance that had just arrived. I don't remember much after that, until I heard Toby yelling for an ambulance or a doctor, or someone, anyone.  
  
I pushed it all down. The fear, the worry, the anger, confusion, all of it. It was Claudia Jean Cregg, purely professional, who stepped up to the plate that night.  
  
And she's been here ever since.  
  
Until last night, when I saw it all again in my dreams.  
  
Dreams have no bearing on real life, or so I've told myself often enough. Otherwise, hell, we'd be up shit creek without a kayak paddle, pardon the mixed metaphor... So I pushed them aside, but knew they were a sign of trauma-release to come. And I requested some personal time. It was an uphill fight all of the way, but...  
  
Which is why I'm sitting in the airport, alone in a crowd.  
  
Y'know, we pretend to be so high and mighty in this White House, trying to do the right thing... and... this was how we get repaid. We get shot at. We got shot at, and now... now we all have to deal with the ramifications.  
  
I don't know about the others, but I've put off dealing with it for so long... so long... and now that's coming around to bite me on the ass. I should have cried at least. Or pounded a pillow or something.  
  
But I didn't. And now...  
  
Hell, at least I didn't smash my hand through a window.  
  
We pretend to be all right, to not be affected by it. And now...  
  
Now...  
  
Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just start crying right here in the middle of the airport and let it all out already.  
  
And because I'm the White House secretary doesn't count as a good reason.  
  
I just want to be a normal person, fallible and emotional, for one goddamn night. One day. I don't care which, so long as I get it! I want nothing more than to have back my normal life. Even if it was plagued by lunatic Hollyweird freaks.  
  
The stress is too much, with this job. Now I know why so many Press Secretaries have gone totally postal either in the White House or after the White House.  
  
I don't even know where I'm going or why I'm going there, I'm just going. And, unfortunately, am bringing alone my cellphone and pager just in case someone decides to blow up the world.  
  
I told Josh he was sweet for worrying that much about what I thought about his card, but I really felt sick to my stomach. I felt sick because I knew I wouldn't be needed, that my life, despite being a friend of the most powerful man in the free world, would be subject to demolition because of my job. I felt sick because I know how close we've come to it before, and since, then. I felt sick because I knew right then that all of the power and influence in the world doesn't mean squat.  
  
And I felt sick because Josh gave them back the card. I felt sick that he would sacrifice himself to comfort us, his friends, his family... He'd be needed in the new world after a post-nuclear disaster, and he'd have sacrificed himself...  
  
And he told me about Joanie one night, late one night, when the White House was in lock-down, because of a security breach at the border. He told me how she died, how she lived... he told me about her relationship to that damn card. I cried with him.  
  
God help me, I cried with him.  
  
And when he almost died, only I knew that he was lying on that table, searching for Joanie in his death. We almost lost him. Almost.  
  
See, even in my pain, I turn away from it and think about my friends. I can't face my own demons head-on.  
  
So I pussy-foot around them, tap dancing till Kingdom come.  
  
And I'm alone in the crowd.  
  
We're all still in shock after Rosslyn, even now... even close to a year later. And the shock has yet to wear off for anyone but Josh, and now, me. Toby's still pounding away on things that mean nothing in the scheme of things, and Leo hasn't dealt with any of it. Sam just launched himself back into work as soon as Josh was all right.  
  
And we're just setting ourselves up for the fall down the rabbit hole into Hell.  
  
Someday soon, they'll find themselves alone in a crowd, like I am, fighting for the last shreds of their sanity, their emotional guard.  
  
Alone.  
  
  
  
Finis  



End file.
